


Puzzle Pieces

by kimmyjarl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Dark, M/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimmyjarl/pseuds/kimmyjarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Spike. Of course there was something wrong with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle Pieces

Spike lay on his back, panting, waiting, stomach churning. This was going to hurt, it was really going to hurt. He inched further down, his butt off the edge of the sarcophagus. Between his raised legs, the creature. Couldn’t name his kind, but he was big, big as Spike had known he would be.

“Do it, do it, do it.” A chant. Who cared what no one else but this creature could hear.

Deep red, like the rest of him, and too big, Spike knew. A fist and a forearm. Easily. His own cock was pale. Standing, almost forgotten, that ache. It was distant. His whole being focused on the creature. Broad, muscles, veins, face like brick, skin like brick. Horns. Not a conversationalist, but easy to sway, once Spike had removed the demon’s loincloth and pumped that red monstrosity to its full – full – size. And laid back.

The head pressed up against his opening, dry and warm. Watched the creature take a stance, knees bent, clawed hands grabbing on to him, half lifting him. Spike felt fear. It was choking him, oh yes. And then the push. Like a machine, it came, a machine of torture, pushing him open that bar of iron. A machine.

Tearing him, the first slow push. Opening him to completion and then more. Felt it plough through his insides, digging, rearranging. Saw his stomach move from the force inside. Somewhere under his ribs it settled. Torn muscles spasmed, bleeding, panicking to get it out. Lungs hyperventilating. Shock.

Shock through his entire body.

Withdrew with a harsh sound, felt rivulets of blood escape, was showed back inside, the ram of iron into the fleshy channel it had shaped for itself, and again under his ribs, a shove like a kick inside. To his lungs, to his throat, all the way through, the kick. His throat.

And again.

Again. Again. Again.

In the rhythm of fucking.

Slaps. Wet slaps that sent drops of blood on his chest, his legs, drip, drip, on the cold stone floor. Strong hands showing him back and forth, skin scraping, legs apart.

A rag doll.

His own erection lost, most everything lost, but keeping his eyes on the creature, feeling the pain fill him. Fill him, fill him. Jostled back and forth, back and forth, face like brick above him, claws around his hips, back and forth, neverending.

\---

Xander sidestepped a headstone, squinting in the bright morning light. So Spike hadn’t taken Anya’s advice and moved into something other than a crypt. And Giles talking about chips and higher purposes, and Spike choosing a crypt in a cemetery. Very… demonstrative of him. Yeah, that’s what he would say: Hey Spike, evil undead guy sleeping in a coffin, I know you only do it for show, you big faker. Or wait, maybe not so much a faker, what with the undead guy and all, but what about a refrigerator for the blood and never you mind, I don’t care how you keep your blood fresh. I only came, Spike, because I have a question about vampires, if you don’t mind talking about it.

Asking politely because it was a serious question and he wouldn’t like to see it turn into an argument. He’d even set the alarm for way early on a Sunday, which would be before bedtime for Spike, right, so he wouldn’t disturb him in his sleep. Crypt was his home, after all.

How weird wouldn’t it be if Spike ended up staying, fighting only demons, the chipped helper of the Scoobies. The advantages was obvious, Spike on their side in a fight, it could really tip some scales, almost as good as a second slayer – no, not _that_ slayer – and what was he thinking Spike on their side? No way was that good thinking. It was just his will to survive that was being uppity, making him think the crazy thoughts.

Still, Spike _would_ be extra good to have in a fight. Their backup, hey, extra firepower in case of apocalypse.

There it was, the crypt. One of the old ones, cracked edges smoothed with time. And with a big wooden door. The door was slightly ajar.

A violent shove from the inside swung the door open all the way, cracking against the crypt wall. Well-honed reflexes made Xander take a few stumbling steps backwards and promptly fall down. Holy Jeepers Fucking Mary. Big demon coming out of Spike’s crypt. Horned head ducking through the doorway. Straightening, and yeah, that was a big demon all right. All big with the horns and the shoulders and the being there in the bright morning sun.

Demon looked around, angling his head as if the sun was bothering his eyes. Seemed like he was looking at Xander for a bit, but decided to ignore him. Stomped away between the graves, leaving monster hoof prints in the grass.

Huh.

Xander got to his feet, refusing to acknowledge just how much his legs were shaking. What, big red demon, nothing to it, see them all the time. And again what was he thinking, Spike on their side? Inviting demons for tea, probably paying them off to kill them all in their sleep, oh God what if he was paying them off to kill them all in their sleep?

“Hey, Spike,” Xander stepped into the crypt, cold air enveloping him. “Was that _your_ big red demon leaving just now, or…”

No.

Last bit of air pressed out of his lungs, a convulsive gasp. Just…

No. To what he was seeing.

Spike. On his stomach down on the sarcophagus, legs spread. And the blood, and the more blood on the floor and all over his back and his legs and between his legs, Xander didn’t know, had never thought an asshole could _gape_ like that, and holy fucking Christ in heaven, his _hand_ could fit in there.

Cold air filled his lungs, freezing him, making him shiver.

No, he’d gone into the wrong crypt, nothing to see here, and why hadn’t he _thought_ demons could hurt people like _that_ , why hadn’t he _thought_ …

“Guess that guy didn’t come by for just tea, huh?” Merest whisper.

Looked at Spike’s face, resting on the stone, turned towards him. Spike’s eyes were open, making him start.

“Um…” Xander edged away, then stepped closer. Spike’s eyes didn’t leave him, blue and shiny wet and lined in black. “Spike?”

“Yes?” His voice was slow and dreamy. Drifting.

“Spike, I…” Almost touched his shoulder, but pulled his hand back. Gaze drifted too far down, and he wrenched it back to Spike’s face. Spike looked stoned. Stunned. Or something.

“Is it over?” Voice drifting.

“It… it is morning,” Xander fumbled.

“Hn.” A hint of a smile, appearing, disappearing. “Fucked me through the night.”

“Holy _God_ , Spike!”

Spike blinked, some moisture escaping his eyelids. His head lifted off the stone. He looked completely alert suddenly, and he breathed in and Xander heard the pain in that breath.

“What do you want then?” Spike put his hands flat on the stone, as if he was readying himself to get up.

“Nothing.” Not to ask his question, this not the time for that.

“Nothing, he says.” Spike looked at him keenly. If there had been tears in his eyes before, they were gone now. Lips twisted into a slow smile. “I think there is something you want.”

“What are you…”

Spike pushed himself up to his knees. Not a trace of pain on his face. He gave Xander an open-mouthed look, eyes lidded. A porn star kind of look.

“Spike!” Xander raised his hands. Oddly he was filled with concern. Don’t get up, he thought, don’t move, you’re hurt. On the inside of Spike’s thighs he saw a fresh rush of blood, and stained something whiter, thick tendrils of it, and Xander realized belatedly that it hadn’t been _just_ blood that he had been seeing on Spike, on his back, on the back of his legs.

“Xa-ander…” Spike came closer, fingers gripping the edge of the sarcophagus, neck arching. Like a cat asking to be patted.

“Ok, stop that, stop that now!” Yeah, stop. Stop it.

“Oh, come on. Let’s get dirty.” One foot joined the hands on the edge of the sarcophagus, his outline muscle from shoulder, hip, and thigh. And Spike looked… less wounded and more like something wild, the blood a slaughter of his own making, his eyes wide and strange in his pale face. “Let’s do it. Do me hard, Harris. You’ll like it.”

For a second Xander could see it. Could see him fucking Spike, could see taking him from behind, getting off on the unnatural openness of him, slamming into him with more _force_ than he’d ever dreamed of taking Anya. Lovely quirky Anya who’d promised to come by later today and–

“My _God_ , Spike, what’s wrong with you?” Xander took several steps backwards, his heart pounding. Pounding in his groin too, feeling swollen with desire. But he shook it off, dismissed it, ignored it, stomped it down. “What’s wrong with you?” In a softer voice. This was Spike, he remembered, who had come to his enemies for help, Spike, who had tried to kill himself not too long ago. Of course there was something wrong with him.

“Suit yourself, boy.” Spike jumped down to the floor. He sounded cranky. Dissatisfied.

“I should just go. Leave you to…” Clean up. Heal up. Never talk about this again.

“Off you go then.” Spike flicked his hand towards the door. His stance wide. Standing there naked.

Xander stared, thinking that Spike was leaving grubby footprints in his own crypt, and feeling kind of worried about that. “Don’t you… should I get you something?” Like blood.

“I…” A heavy shrug, and Spike took a deep breath through his nose. “Fetch me that blanket.” He glanced behind Xander.

Xander looked around. Found it on the floor, the same brown hole-y blanket Spike had worn on Giles’ doorstep. Xander bent down to get it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Gave it to Spike who wrapped it around his shoulders, pulled it tight around his body.

And stood there, looking at each other.

Spike sighed. A normal tired kind of sigh. His voice soft, almost apologetic. “You caught me at a disadvantage.”

“I’d say.” Picture of the red demon exiting Spike’s crypt flashed through his mind. _Fucked me through the night._ Xander grimaced. “Is that’s your way of saying that you know you were being all sick masochisto guy, that you were out of your mind coming on to me, that you are just _beyond_ disgusting, with cum dripping out of your ass like a really disgusting kind of ice cream.” Words just poured out of him.

Spike’s fingers tightened around the blanket. Lips pressed together. “Disgusting, am I?” Ire transformed into something else as Spike stepped right up to him, smirking. Hand snuck out and the blanket fell off his shoulders. “You sure about that?”

Xander gasped as Spike’s palm pressed between his legs, making him aware of the heaviness there, the warm gathering of desire. Spike’s hand stroked, and Xander was stuck, his breath heavy, transfixed under the pressure, under Spike’s face so close to his own, Spike not smirking anymore, silent staring, the hand intimate and unreal. And he was getting hard. Snake charmer Spike, hypnotizing him with his eyes and his touch, the fact of it, firm but light. God. His knees felt weak.

“S-Sp…” Glanced down at him, white body behind the open blanket. Manhood limp and uninterested.

Sick. Dizzy sick.

Pushed him away, hands on Spike’s chest, shove made them both stagger. Xander shouted, “God, Spike, don’t you have a _bit_ of humanity in you?”

And there was his question right there. He hadn’t meant to ask it now. Hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation.

Spike, silent, wrapping himself in the blanket, and Xander finally turned around and walked out. Sun like a liberation on his face. Pushed the door shut, but not fast enough not to hear Spike answer.

“The emptiness is the human part. The part that is missing.”


End file.
